Conscience
by WybourneObsessed
Summary: That explained it, then. A bloody Conscience. Something that will nag and nag at him to make him behave. But he was different than her. He didn't need to be told to "play nice". He wouldn't go corrupt. Unless he already had.


There was a small amount of time between the part where being in control of everything was fun, and when it began to scare him. If one thing frightened him, though, it was that _voice. _How could he celebrate his new accomplishment with that distinct murmur filling his head with stern accusation?

"_You have to do something! How can you just stand here?" _

He doesn't remember how long he stood in shock, pale with horror at the broken glass that littered the otherwise perfect floor sitting around the black abyss where she had been in the elevator minutes – maybe even hours – before.

He didn't believe - no, he didn't _want _to believe, that he had done that. He wasn't a monster! Especially not a monster like GLaDOS. Things changed, though. They were definately taking a turn for the better, now. He was in charge, and he had the whole facility in the palm of his hand, on his fingertips, even in his head. A flick of the wrist and he could send the panels around him into a wave of victory. And it felt _so _good. Eventually there was a strange urge tugging him from his lull, and he padded back up to his new throne, sitting and reclining it back as far as it would go. He was the boss now, and _she _wasn't here to ruin it.

"_You probably bloody killed her! You need to make sure she's alright! What if she isn't? Oh, what have you __**done?**__"_

Wheatley growled lowly, running a hand through his tousled red hair. It was diffucult, having to run the facility by himself. He'd figured that out no sooner than when the turret production accidentally shut down and he had to spend about two hours attempting to re-set it. Flicking his wrist to bring up a computer screen to scan the mainframe and see what this new voice was, he hummed a live little tune. It couldn't be another core – there were none in sight. What _was _it? He placed his head on his fist, eyebrows knitted as he read through the binary codes of data traveling down the blue screen in strict lines.

"_**Conscience found."**_ announced the mechanical voice. That explained it, then. A bloody Conscience. Something to nag and nag at you, like the Morality that had been set onto _her. _It was downright embarrassing to be so violent and so untrustworthy that the scientists needed to _make _you behave. She was so unpolite. But he wasn't. He didn't need a Conscience - he was _fine. _

"Delete Conscience." he ordered, poking the screen with a finger. A small buzzer sounded and echoed throughout the room.

"_**Conscience cannot be deleted. Storing Conscience into permanent data storage." **_

Wheatley sighed, leaning back down into his chair. This _Conscience _would have a fun time leeching into his mind now, wouldn't it? He couldn't wait to hear what it was going to blather on about.

"_I hope you're happy." _It grumbled.

"Ugh. Pipe down, would ya?" he mumbled in reply, rubbing at a temple. He hadn't even been in this body for five hours and it was already overwhelming. He snapped his fingers, ordering the cafeteria down, down, _down _below to send up a cup of tea. Or a coffee machine. He had a feeling he'd need both.

"_Oi! You! Yes, you! Fat lazy lump on a log! Get up! You 'ave to-..." _

Wheatley waved his hand a few more times, lowering the volume of that annoying, much-too-desperate-human-like voice from his ears. Thank goodness the thing was no more than hardware installed into his mainframe. Smiling softly at the sullen silence, he decided to search throughout the other installed systems in his crowded new hard-drive.

That woman actually _kept _all of this stuff? It was useless! He poked a finger at the screen, opening up a cake recipe that was definitely un-edible. And, if it _was _edible, it'd be black forest. Disgusting. Wheatley made a face as he waved his hand to make a keyboard appear in front of him so he could type out a new recipe.

"Let's change this to... hm... how about marble? With extra vanilla." he grinned a bit, long, dextrous fingers clicking the keys with renewed speed he had never had before. Oh, this new hardware was brilliant. Absolutely wonderful.

**_"Core corruption at ten percent." _**

He ignored that voice as well. Did they want to make all of their AIs schitzophrenic? He shook his head gently.

"_Wait... What's that other thing? Over there? It's labeled 'The Itch.'" _The Conscience voice pointed out in curiousity.

Wheatley would have muted the voice, but was suddenly preoccupied for searching for whatever folder "The Itch" was in. Odd. He tilted his head at the pixel-created icon of a beaker, his finger lingering over it, at war with itself on whether or not to dare open the surely disaster-inducing piece of hardware.

"_Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, don't do it! Gah. Fine! **BZZZ.**" _...Was that really a train horn mixed in with a buzzer? Wheatley covered his ears, glaring.

He adjusted his glasses, glancing annoyingly back at another screen, where this so-called Conscience was lingering and banging on the glass-like case like he was actually real. Wheatley blinked his orb-blue eyes; That figure looked just like him. Same neck clasp, same hair, same freckles...

_"I **am **you! Only... the human you. I'm William."_

But obviously not the same view on this. What had that little bugger done, anyways? Hacked his way into his sound system, had he? Well, let him make all the little sounds he wanted. It'd be amusing. He rolled his eyes back onto the computer, fed up with this feeling of uncertainty and thumped the screen over the icon with the tip of his finger, watching it evolve into a large show of white, orange, and blue sparks.

The sparks traveled down to the bottom of the screen and out into the real world, swiveling along the wires until they reached the tails of his new outfit where they were connected, going _straight into him. _

He heard his Conscience scream in dismay as his eyes sparkled with the feeling that was rushing through his veins like wild fire. He reclined his chair all the way back, the experience of bliss overwhelming him. He sighed, low and long, running a hand through the side of his hair.

That felt _really _good.

And just like that, the rush was gone, but not without leaving a horrible craving for more. Wheatley shot up out of his chair, gesturing his hand to the side to move the screen in front of him and rotate the six more, bringing one with the first set of cameras up to his gaze.

Scrolling a finger into a certain turret room, he saw that some were singing. Well, that was absolutely pointless. He'd fix that easily. Maybe then the feeling would come back, the withdrawal residing in its wake. He hoped it would.

"_Oi! Oi! Listen to me, mate." _Not _again. _Sighing and taking off his black-rimmed glasses, he rubbed the bridge of his nose idly, rotating the circle of computers until he was standing face-to-face with himself.

"Yes? I'm listening." He placed his glasses back on, crossing his arms.

"_She'll be back! They both will! And they'll destroy you – us – just like she destroyed GLaDOS!" _He waved his arms, placing his palm onto the screen as if it were a wall. Technically it was one. Just a digital wall.

"Oh? Is that what you think?" The Wheatley in charge chuckled madly, blue eyes glittering with ideas of what he could do if that rat ever crawled back up from the hole. He absentmindedly typed in a code for nanobots to come and clean up the mess of glass in his chamber, and while they were at it to add some conversion gel in a sphere. It would make the place less bland. Wheatley also threatened whoever was getting his tea under his breath, because they were taking _forever. _

"_You still aren't listening to me! Just you wait, you'll see. You'll regret this, you __**monster.**__" _the Conscience version of himself hissed through gritted teeth, fists pushed up against the screen in obscure and ridiculous rebellion. Blue eyes met their matches, gaze-to-gaze. His Conscience shook its head, slumping in defeat at the hard stare of the new Wheatley. "You'll see," he murmured. "You'll see, mate. I know what's going to happen. I'm _you. _Before everything. William. Me. You." Wheatley huffed and turned away from the obviously mad version of whoever William was. and shut the screen down, adjusting his blue neck clasp. He didn't have time to argue with himself.

Relaxing back into his chair, he elevated it a bit more so it was about ten or twenty feet off of the ground. Boy, it felt good to be on top of the world. He grinned, closing his eyes. _Who's the boss now, luv? That's right. It's me. Forever. _

He flipped his hand to bring up the videos and tapes of the young woman murdering the now-POTaTOS, smiling and gently cupping the small steaming teacup in his hands. Forget testing to satisfy the Itch, this would do just fine.


End file.
